Banish My Heart
by misscam
Summary: Love. Can't banish that, for all she tried. For all Arthur knew his father would not approve. For all Uther declared it not to be.  Arthur/Gwen, Gwaine, Merlin


Banish My Heart  
by misscam

Summary: Love. Can't banish that, for all she tried. For all Arthur knew his father would not approve. For all Uther declared it not to be. [Arthur/Gwen, Gwaine, Merlin]

Rating: Teen. Implied adult activities.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

Author's Note: This is an AU inspired by one item in the episode description for 3x10, but doesn't spoil the episode and can be read independently of it. Thanks to clevermonikerr for beta.

II

"You are banished from this kingdom," Uther says, and all Gwen can hear is the ringing in her ears, drowning out everything else. She can see Arthur yelling and Morgana speaking, but the words don't register.

So. She is a fool after all. She always thought she knew her and Arthur could not be, but somehow, she's grown to hope and believe otherwise.

Why else would this hurt so much?

Foolish. Fool. Caught with Arthur and now to pay the price. Banishment from Camelot, and the only home she has known. The end to all hope of a fairytale ending.

"You can't do that," Uther says, the words cutting through all the noise in her head. She looks up at him to see the fury in his eyes, but it is not at her this time.

"I can," Arthur says, and he comes to stand next to her, a hand on her shoulder. "I banish myself with her. You are no longer my king, _father._"

"Arthur!" she says, but Arthur merely smiles at her, a steady, certain smile; the only thing to remain steady while the world seems to spin widely around her and come to crash.

II

Arthur is as stubborn as Uther, as it turns out. And so, before the light of dawn it is not only Gwen that is set to leave Camelot.

They have packed two horses, or rather Merlin has packed Arthur's and Gwen has packed her own and they are standing in the courtyard, watching the light in Uther's room. Arthur is there, and Gwen can only imagine what harsh words are being exchanged.

"I almost hope he will not come," she says, and Merlin looks at her. "He is the crown prince of Camelot. He should not be doing this."

"Even a crown prince must become his own man," Merlin says simply.

"Not like this," she says, and then she cries while Merlin pats her awkwardly on the back. It shouldn't be like this, her fairytale become a reality where she feels the villain.

"Gwen," he says softly. "Arthur loves you. Above Camelot. Above any kingdom."

"That is not just a good thing," she says, steadying her breath.

"It will be a good thing," he promises, and there is no lie in his voice.

"Why are you staying?" she asks, and Merlin looks at her, his eyes so bright.

"Because you both will be back one day," he says.

II

"This is not like you!" Uther rages, and Arthur feels strangely calm for all the pain in him. Like the eye of the storm, all the rage outside and all the calm inside, all the destruction between them.

"You never knew me, father," he says. "All you ever saw was yourself. You assume what is good for me is good for you. You assume what you want is what I want."

"All this for a _servant_?" Uther says in disbelief. His eyes are blazing, but they are also strangely watery.

"All this for Guinevere," Arthur says, biting back harsh words. He too, once, thought of servants are merely there to offer services. Before he learned to care for more than one of them. "Have you never loved anyone so much you would do anything for them?"

The words seem to hang in the air for a moment, and Arthur can see his father visibly pale, as if touched by a ghost. Then his cheeks colour again.

"I love you enough to want the best for you!" Uther says, every word like steel and just as sharp.

"No. The best _for you,_" Arthur counters, and Uther looks taken aback, almost shocked. It is enough, Arthur decides. There is no more to say when his father has made up his mind, and he certainly doesn't intend to change his.

When he turns around, he can hear rapid footsteps and feel a strong hand on his shoulder, halting him.

"Arthur! Do not do this," Uther pleads, his voice breaking just a fracture.

"You never listen to pleas," Arthur says, keeping the steel in his own voice. He will not break now. He must not break now. "Consider this one time I will take after you."

When he leaves this time, Uther does not hinder him.

II

Merlin hugs Arthur a long time, then insults him profoundly afterwards, and Gwen watches it with tears in her eyes. On the stairs, Morgana is watching them all, as distant as the stars in the sky and just as cold. Looking up, Gwen can see Uther's light has gone out, but in the east, the sky is warning of the coming onslaught of light that is the morning.

"We must ride," Arthur says. His voice is thick and he is blinking furiously (not to cry, she suspects), but he still manages a smile.

"I will see you soon," Merlin says. Strangely, he is looking at Morgana, an intense gaze Gwen can't quite read. "Until then, your majesties."

II

When they have crossed the outer border of Camelot, the sun is rising and bathing it in a glorious light. Arthur watches it without speaking and she watches him, not sure how to comfort something she is the cause of.

"I am surprised Merlin did not come," he says after a while. "He is my servant."

He doesn't only serve you, she doesn't say. It is only a feeling she has, and she cannot quite explain it.

"I think he will serve you better where he is," she says instead, which is also a true.

"Mm," Arthur says non-committally. She finds herself wondering what he is thinking, hoping it is not too ill of her or Uther.

"I am sorry," she says, but Arthur shakes his head, still watching the castle.

"Do not be," he says simply, as if he can command absolution and give edict to emotions.

He has a lot to learn about not being royal, she thinks, and watches Camelot with him until the sun is high above the horizon and it's a new, new day.

II

After they have ridden deep into the forest, they tie their horses and let them drink from a stream while Arthur clings to her, nuzzling his head against her neck and hair.

"You should not have done this," she says, but she can't get enough reproach in her voice. Can't, when part of her is selfishly glad they are together after all.

"What should I have done?" he asks, tilting her head up with a hand under her chin. "Let you go? Banish my heart? Stay to become a king heartless? Stay to grow to hate my father?"

"You would be a great king even so," she says, leaning her head against his chest and feeling his head come to gently rest on top of her.

For a long time, they stay like that, only the Earth moving and creating the illusion that the sun and the sky do instead.

Certain things are just unmovable, Gwen finds, and doesn't let go.

II

In the evening, they find a suitable camp site. Arthur manages a fire after only ten tries and beams at her for it. She has to laugh slightly at his childlike pride at something so simple, and he acts affronted at that until he is laughing too, even if it doesn't quite touch his eyes.

She does touch him. At first, a little carefully, a little brush of fingers against his palm, a little squeeze on his arm, a little touch of lips on his cheek, a little dance of breaths in sync.

She has been guarded for so long around him it is hard to let go of the habit. But she has already suffered the worst, they both have. She might as well enjoy the best, she decides, and maybe she will feel something other than guilt.

Arthur looks taken aback for a moment as she straddles him, then he smiles as he lifts his head and meets her kiss. The sun is warm at her back and his hands no less so, tracing the curve of her spine as she pushes him back against the grass. Her hair fall around both their faces, free and unhindered.

"I love you," he whispers, as he flips her over to the side and strokes her cheek. It is the first time he has outright said it, and she feels her breath catch slightly even if she has known for a long time that he does. Implied is not the same as stated after all.

"I love you," she says, stating rather than implying, and his kiss is almost desperate in its eagerness.

II

It is a strange thing, pleasure. It is almost painful in great excess.

"Guinevere," Arthur gasps, his fingers still in her hair as the heat seems to rush to his face and burning the palm she has resting against his cheek. His whole body seems to go still as his head tilts backwards and his eyes roll slightly back.

Arthur, she thinks, watching him from lowered eyelids. She wonders if he felt as possessive as this when he was watching her lose control, or if he was merely too lost in coaxing her to it.

When he smiles bashfully, she smiles as if she has all she wants in the world, knowing neither of them do.

It is a strange thing, pain. It is almost numbing in great excess.

II

It is a strange life, acted carelessness.

They ride where the wind takes them. Arthur hunts, she cooks, and they both talk about everything that isn't important. They both know it can't last, that sooner or later they must pick a new direction for their lives, but they keep postponing it.

A cocoon is never forever, but with care, it can hold longer.

She kisses the blisters on his fingers. He strokes the aches in her back. They both kiss the other at unexpected moments, as if the freedom of being able to still hasn't quite sunk in.

They sleep under blankets or Arthur's great cloak, and both pretend not to see the dragon emblem. There is no Pendragon any more. There are just Arthur and Gwen, cocooned in each other.

It rains, they get wet. It is burning sunlight, and they tan. It is cold, and they freeze. It is warm, and they soak it, knowing it doesn't last.

It is a life, days passing.

II

One morning, Gwaine simply turns up without much ceremony, but a lot of game. He doesn't offer any explanations for finding them, and Arthur doesn't ask, as if the answer is unwanted.

Gwen has a pretty good idea anyway, and one morning when Arthur checks the traps, Gwaine stays behind.

"How is Merlin?" she asks, and Gwaine smiles fondly.

"A little lost with no one calling him an idiot on a daily basis, I believe. He is missing you both."

She nods, a lump in her throat. "Does he blame me?"

"Of course not," Gwaine says simply. He takes her hand, kissing it as if she was a queen and he a knight. "He confessed to me he felt guilty for acting like a matchmaker. I believe he blames himself."

"It is not his fault!" she insists.

"Yes," Gwaine agrees effortlessly, looking at her intently. "It is sad how fast we all are at taking the blame for what is not our fault."

"Are you trying to be a wise man full of counsel?" she asks, feeling a knot in her heart untie itself slightly.

"Me? I am just here to flirt with the fairest maiden in Camelot and annoy the greatest prat," he says smoothly. "I am a master at the life of no care."

When he winks, she laughs.

Arthur does not when he comes back to find them like that.

II

Gwaine is a good fighter, but he is no servant, and seems oblivious to Arthur's attempts to relegate the role (or merely acts so). Nor does he consider orders as orders just because they are spoken as if they are so, and he mostly does as he wants, with Arthur pretending that's what he wanted Gwaine to do all along.

It is amusing to watch them sort out territory and what roles they have with each other, Gwen has to admit, but she is also feeling a growing sense of ominousness.

She knows what role Merlin has directed Gwaine to in this; a bodyguard.

II

The first bandit attack comes at night. She is sleeping curled up against Arthur, his hand resting on her hip, with Gwaine sleeping a few feet away as he tends to, and it is him who is the first to react.

She is torn from her sleep at the sound of Gwaine's cry, and a moment later Arthur has yanked her to her feet, placing himself between her and the incoming dark shapes.

Sword glints in the dark, and she pulls the dagger from her boots, ramming it into the first shape that comes at her. Arthur has already incapacitated one and is fending off the second, Gwaine is facing two and ducking at just the right time, making them knock out each other.

The sixth is swinging at Arthur when she throws herself at the shape, causing what might have been a deadly blow to merely grace her arm instead as it comes down.

"Guinevere!" Arthur calls as she closes her eyes to the sharp, sudden pain, then opens them again to see his face so very close as he lifts her up. Gwaine has dispatched the last attacker, and is looking at the forest with guarded eyes.

No others come, and Gwen rests her head on Arthur's shoulder as he carries her to the camp fire and cuts the cloth away from her shoulder to see her wound. She winces at the sight of it herself, but it is not too deep.

"It does not look so bad," she says, clenching her teeth as Arthur cleanses it with water.

"You could have been killed," he says, his voice dark. "You cannot risk your life like that!"

"I am not a piece of jewellery for you to simply admire and protect!" she says angrily. "I am not going to let anything happen to you if I can help it."

For a moment, they both stare at each other as if across crossed swords, then Arthur sighs and leans his forehead against hers.

"I will not lose you now," he says, and she wonders if he's going to see what Uther never seemed to – that a royal command might take a life, but can never take death away.

II

In the morning, Gwaine cooks and Arthur nurses her, both men looking grim and on guard. When they think she is sleeping, she can hear them discuss in low voices if the attack was merely random or quite targeted.

She knows what she believes.

II

The second attack comes at daytime, while Gwen is cooking. She has enough time to grab the knife that has been used to cut up the bird when the first charges at her, and she strafes away from his attack as Arthur gets him in the back. The second she manages to stab herself, and distract a third enough that Gwaine can get him.

The others Arthur and Gwaine manages between them, even if Gwaine suffers a light wound and Arthur a knock on the head.

They leave one unharmed but unarmed to be questioned, and no one is at all surprised to hear who is behind the attacks.

II

"Cenred and Morgause," Arthur says, watching the night sky as she sits down next to him. "They are not satisfied with my banishment."

"They know you can return," she says, and he looks at her with pained eyes. "Uther would welcome you. You could even blame magic for falling in love with a servant. He would believe it."

"I will not," he says. "Guinevere, you cannot think I would leave you."

"You miss Camelot," she says. "All your life, you have moulded yourself to be a future king. You cannot undo that. Not even for me."

"I had hoped to break the mould for you," he says softly. "Marry you and make you queen. Queen Guinevere. King Arthur. A new line of Pendragon."

She touches the wound at his temple gently, remembering the crown that used to rest there.

"You can still be king," she says. Will be, she doesn't say.

"I can still marry you," he says, lifting her up and swinging her around, kissing her mercilessly until she agrees and not even stopping then.

II

They get married in a small village on an overcast day. Gwaine is both best man and bridesmaid, and mutters slightly about the lost opportunity for seduction, but does look very pretty with flowers in his hair.

Arthur says his vows solemnly, eyes never leaving her face. She trips once in hers, saying his full name rather than just the first names they go by now, but Arthur only smiles at that.

Always, they promise, and Gwen knows that is a dangerous word. Easily spoken, easily promised, but hard to live in a time where present always turns to past and the future always waits.

Still. For tonight, it can be always.

Gwaine goes to drink at the tavern and they dance under the sky, at least until Arthur tilts his head and kisses her mid-step and the movement of their bodies become a different sort of dance that is just as old.

II

She doesn't tell him she loves him this time. Not because it isn't still true – it is – but because his lips stay on hers, nibbling, pressing, sliding across hers, and she mouths it soundlessly into more than one kiss instead.

Love. Can't banish that, for all she tried. For all Arthur knew his father would not approve. For all Uther declared it not to be.

Love doesn't take command, royal or otherwise.

II

"I wonder what king my father would have been if my mother would have lived," Arthur says. He is holding her carefully, no pressure on her still wounded arm, and soft pressure of his fingers on her palm to keep her mind off the pain of healing flesh.

She tilts her head to look at his face, which seems strangely thoughtful in the faint light of a single candlelight.

"I do not know," she says. "Why do you ask?"

"Just a thought," he says, and she knows it is not.

II

On their third day in the village, Merlin walks into the tavern and she knows the future has caught up with them.

II

She sits on the bed in their rented room while Merlin talks, Arthur and Gwaine leaning against the wall. She watches their faces as Merlin talks about Uther's failing health and desperation to have an heir after all – and Morgana, always there, always smiling, always Uther's perfect daughter.

Not just in appearance, the latter, and Arthur's face becomes like stone when Merlin tells of Morgana's true paternity and Uther choice to reveal it.

Queen Morgana now, appointed because Uther is so frail. Queen Morgana, a ruler with an even colder grip than Uther.

She wants to close her ears and hear nothing as Merlin goes on about Morgana's plots and that it was her, always her. Her that got Elyan kidnapped. Her that got Arthur nearly killed. Her that got Gwen and Arthur's feeling for each other revealed.

Her. All her.

Maybe it is possible to banish love after all, Gwen thinks distantly. After all, Morgana seems to have.

II

"I don't want to believe it," Gwen says as Arthur sits next to her under the flowering tree. It is blooming, the wind every now and then catching and carry petals away. From his expression she can tell he doesn't want to either, but that he has to. They both do.

"I must return," he says.

"Of course," she agrees. Somehow, she always knew this day was coming.

"Merlin says she has disbanded the knights and killed several of them," he says darkly, and she takes his hand.

"I will gather knights for you," she promises. "Me and Gwaine will."

"Guinevere..."

"If you say anything about it being too dangerous or try to order me to stay behind, I will have Merlin and Gwaine both do nothing but bray at you for a week. They would obey me."

"Of course they would," he agrees, kissing her lightly. "I am sorry."

"Do not be," she says simply. "You are the prince of Camelot. You cannot banish what you are. This was just... A pause."

"Then you cannot be banished either," he says softly. "You are my heart. I will return to Camelot, but so will you. We will marry again there."

She should tell him it cannot be, she knows. Even if Morgana is no longer queen, there is still Uther and he will not change is mind. She should tell him there are so many obstacles in their way maybe they should not try at all.

She can't tell him that, she knows. She's grown to hope and believe otherwise.

It is a strange thing, love. It makes fools of the wise. It knows no command, taking royals and servants alike. In excess, it can be dangerous and painful. Yet banishing it holds its own dangers, and its own pain. Love. A strange, strange thing.

And somewhere between fairytale and reality, Gwen kisses her prince lightly while the wind tears up the flowers, leaving only the petals to fall dying to the ground.

FIN 


End file.
